Keeping Watch
by AvatarTwilightObsession
Summary: Katniss and Peeta keep watch together on the beach together in the Quarter Quell Games...small drabble with some relationship angst and sadness...R&R :


**This is just a small drabble that I wrote a few months ago...thought I should finish it and get it up as my first piece of Hunger Games fiction :) This is set in the second book, Catching Fire, somewhere in between their arrival on the beach and when they start making the plan with Beetee to break through the forcefield with the golden wire stuff :) That bit did always confuse me...take this is something like the time when Katniss and Peeta are keeping watch in the second book, but just a different time that they keep watch :)**

**Prepare for deep angst/fluffiness. As always with Peeta and Katniss :)**

**Team Peeta ftw! Go away, Gale :P**

**DISCLAIMER - all characters belong to Suzanne Collins **

**Read on, my brave warriors!

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To be honest, I get the feeling that the rest of the group – minus Finnick, of course, who just finds it amusing – are becoming rather annoyed at Peeta and I's constant displays of affection. Whenever we have a free moment we both make sure to find each other, and he makes sure to pull me close whilst I make sure to gaze up at him, as lovingly as I can. I am quite aware it's becoming ridiculous, the amount of time we spend showing affection rather than doing something useful, but I know both he and I are genuinely in danger unless we do.

And besides: it's never really that difficult anymore. I always feel much more comfortable, happier, even, when he's there – as long as his warm arms are around me, I know he is completely safe. I like to keep him near me, not only for the sake of appearances, but also because it just feels better that way. As long as he's close, I know he isn't hurt. That he can't be hurt without me having something to say about it – as long as I can see him, it is so much easier to keep him with me.

After everyone in our small alliance loses their district partner, and Peeta and I are the only ones left, I stick even closer to him, not really understanding the depth of my gratitude for him but still knowing I feel it. I don't know exactly when I had become so strangely dependent on him, but I know that, somehow, I will almost die myself if I lose him now. Whatever he is to me, whoever he is, whatever I feel for him: he still means that much.

We have come so far since that first Hunger Games, when I had been so sure he was out to get me...now look where we are. The whole world thinks I am pregnant with his child, he's desperately in love with me, and I, when before I was so sure about my animosity towards him, have no idea whether I am madly in love with him too or not. It's so hard to separate those feelings out from the fear of being alone, especially in here, where he's quite literally all I have.

I don't notice Peeta coming up beside me, too lost in my thoughts as I stare out over the water, until he's there. "Hey," he says, smiling, leaning in to kiss me, and I almost instinctively act giddily pleased to see him – I say almost because it is far too easy to be truly giddily pleased to see him. I move closer because I want him there and smile back at him, and even though he still knows it's supposed to be a lie, it feels too real to be so.

"Hello," my smile is genuine, and I wonder if he sees it – I rest my head on his warm shoulder, and I don't even have to ask for him to wrap his arms around me. Silence falls again, both of us lost in our thoughts, and when Finnick taps Peeta on the head and asks if we lovebirds are going to be sleeping any time soon, both of us shake our heads.

"We'll keep watch," Peeta says, and I nod – Finnick raises a brow.

"Sure you're up for it, Katniss?"

I remember the baby, and then I think of the perfect line. "I think he or she wants to spend some time with Dad," I say, as gooey as I can, and I can almost see Haymitch grinning; Peeta's eyes widen a little, but Finnick only shrugs.

"Alright...have fun, Dad," he winks at Peeta, who I know is attempting not to question me – there is no way he can, and I'm glad for that, because he would only make fun of me. Instead he plays the doting husband and father, which he is, of course, naturally amazing at.

"I wonder what it'll be," he says, continuing the act by patting my stomach – my skin tingles gently, and I shrug.

"Who knows?"

"I wish I could be there to see it," he mumbles, something genuine in his eyes, and I have to restrain myself from shrieking that he'll be the one coming out of this alive, not me, because that would ruin us. What would the audience think of us then? I can easily believe that they would prefer the baby to live: it would make a much better storyline. A little piece of Peeta, the boy with the bread who poor Katniss had loved so much, living on despite his death. Yes, they would love that. I want to yell that it's all a lie, that there will be no baby, just me living on, sad and alone...without him.

I don't want to even imagine that, afraid of what I'll find, so I just sigh and press a little closer to him, "I wish we could both be." For me, it's the perfect thing to say, as what it's suggesting is both tragic enough for the viewers to pity us – which, in turn, increases their enjoyment of these messed-up Hunger Games – and it also lets Peeta know that I am not giving in: I am not letting him die for me. Even under the cameras, I refuse to so much as speak the words. When Peeta looks like he's about to argue, I cut him off, not wanting to breach the subject again – instead I ramp up the sadness, trying to distract him. "I'm going to miss you," I say, meaning it, however this all plays out, and his eyes grow very soft. He leans down to press his cool forehead against mine, his blonde hair tickling my skin.

"I'm going to miss you too," he whispers, and I know he means it...however this all plays out. I smile, and then I kiss him, and it's one of those warm, intensely pleasurable ones, the only one of all Peeta's kisses that makes me ache when he lets me go, missing the feeling of his warm lips on mine – thankfully: he doesn't.

And it's all a sham, it's all a lie, I know it – I don't know what I'm feeling, and I'm afraid to know...but still it doesn't feel bad. It doesn't feel bad at all.

I still can't understand it.

I stop thinking, unable to continue talking in my head because I'm too distracted, too engrossed in him. Peeta's mouth is warm, his arms tight and comforting around me – even here, in the most dangerous place on earth: when he's kissing me, I feel completely safe.

There's a rustle in the bushes, and Peeta whips his head around, ripping our lips apart but drawing me closer – I don't even have to act that I'm a little stunned by him, that I'm a little frightened something's coming for us; I hold him tighter too, watching the darkness as furtively as he. All that, and I also feel a little disgruntled that whatever is hiding in the forest ruined the moment I was having with Peeta. "It's nothing," Peeta eventually says, his blue gaze turning back on me – his eyes are the sharpest out of all of ours, and I trust his judgement, "I think it was a tree rat."

"We'd know by now if it wasn't," I tell him, still feeling a little dozy – he notices the glazed look in my eyes, I'm sure, and he laughs a little.

"Look at you: you're all woozy."

"Shut up," I tell him.

"Are you sure you're feeling ok?" he asks me, concern slipping into his voice, and I shake my head, smiling a little, the truth creeping shyly out.

"It's not me," I tell him, my bravado slipping away for once, feeling so safe under his deep blue gaze that I'm compelled to say something I normally never would, not even in here when it's usually lies anyway. "It's you." I can tell I've touched him, that he somehow knows that I meant what I said – he smiles wryly, mumbling something sarcastic in reply about how the heat must be getting to me, but I know from the way his eyes are shining that he's happy. And I find that makes me happy too. All that, and the audience must be going crazy – I get the feeling Haymitch must be happy with us too by now. "Come on," I say, taking a step back, "Let's sit." We do so, retreating backwards a bit to a higher stretch of choppy grass that overlooks our little campsite, providing a good lookout spot. I don't think anyone's planning to come for us tonight – as much as we're recuperating, I feel all the other tributes are too, biding their time: that, and I think they're a little frightened of us. For once, an alliance of people other than the Careers are holding their own – and getting some peace.

So I sit myself in between Peeta's legs, resting my arms up his thighs – I shiver at the hardness of one of them, reminded of how he is not completely whole anymore, and switch to wrapping my arms around my abdomen, thinking it will add to the image of us anyway. He leans back on his hands and I rest against his chest, his head propped up on my own, and then silence falls between us, broken only by the occasional screeching caw of a jabberjay and the sounds of the jungle behind us.

It's so quiet that eventually I abandon all pretence of keeping watch, instead turning in Peeta's arms to look at him, wanting to see his face. Then he smiles, and I am itching to kiss him – I do so, leaning up to wrap my arms around his neck and press my lips to his. He responds and slowly we fall back so we're lying together on the ground, our chests pressed together and my legs positioned in between his, the cold ground bruising my knees – but I can't care. I'm lying on him like a mattress, except he's warm and soft and he's holding me. His hands are pressing against my waist but his grip is tight, as if I'll suddenly disappear.

I certainly don't intend to...not intentionally anyway.

We carry on, kissing more intensely now – my whole body is burning, fire eating me from the inside out, and yet I still want more. I kiss him fiercely, not even wanting to come up for breath, and Peeta does not complain. For the sake of decency, that godforsaken decency, we cannot go much further than this, even though I find I very much want to. I prepare to break away, sighing shakily as I pull my lips from his and press my forehead to his, trying hard not to let my emotions overwhelm me; but Peeta surprises me. Instead of sighing too, he rolls over me, pressing me down into the ground – I gasp a little, but he's already cut me off, and he's the one to be demanding now. He's fierce, powerful, kissing me with reckless abandon which leaves me breathless.

"Katniss," he whispers, voice hoarse, "Oh, god, Katniss..."

"Peeta-" I barely have time to respond, to even move, before he pulls away again and hides his face from me, burying himself in my hair which is somehow now spread out over my shoulders. We lie there together for a while, him holding me tight to him and me just attempting to breathe, to calm my racing heart – my mind is still tumbling. "Peeta," I murmur again, bewildered by his behaviour, and I hear him sigh in my ear.

"I," he whispers, his voice quite yet the agony quite clear, "I just don't want to lose you. I know it's coming, and I...I..." He trails to a halt, pulling me close again – I bring a hand up to stroke his hair, trying to soothe him, still confused but doing it anyway.

"It's ok," I say, just out of habit, even though we both know it isn't. "Peeta, it'll all be alright." I sigh, "One day..."

"I want it to be alright now."

I have nothing to say to that, so I just lie there and let him sort himself out – I'm not good at this sort of thing, but I know I shouldn't let him go. That I don't want to let him go.

"I'm sorry," he says eventually, voice burrowing into the skin of my temple, "I don't mean to be so ridiculous."

"You're not ridiculous, Peeta," I tell him, pulling back and trying to smile, "You're right." I sigh, "It's never going to be alright again, is it?"

"Who knows?" he says, smiling back, thought I can't see it in his eyes, "Maybe..."

"What's the point in even thinking about it?" I say, resting my head on his chest and averting my eyes, "One way or another, one of us is going to die. We might as well accept it." Peeta doesn't contradict me, just sighs again before silence drifts over us both. I fiddle with the zip of his jacket, trying to look for something to take my mind off everything. "You know," I murmur absentmindedly, for once not thinking about what I'm saying, "I don't want to lose you either."

Peeta kisses my hair, then sighs, "What do I do, Katniss?"

I lift my head to look at him, and he reaches out to stroke my cheek. "About what?" I whisper.

"About everything. About this. About you. I don't want to spend the little time we might have left fighting, because one of us won't make it. One of us _can't _make it out alive. Should I just fight for you to stay alive, and ruin whatever time we may have left? And what if you don't make it, and I do? What do I do then?"

"Peeta," I shake my head, cutting him off, "Don't think about that. It won't do any good."

"I don't want to fight anymore," he whispers, "I want this all to be over."

"No you don't," I say, "We still have time, even if it's only an hour or so. And I don't want to spend it feeling horrible about things that we can't change."

"How do you want to spend it, then?" he asks, and I smile.

"There's no one else in here that I care about more than you, Peeta. I want to spend my last few days in here with you," he smiles at my words.

"I don't really think you have much choice," he murmurs, eyes sparkling gently at me – he kisses me on the nose, "But I want that as well."

"Good," I answer, smiling back at him, "You're not getting rid of me that easily, you know."

We settle back down together, sitting side by side now, our hips and shoulders touching and our arms around each other – as the atmosphere around us grows warmer as the early morning hours begin to pass us by, I find myself growing drowsier and drowsier until I can barely keep my eyes open. My head droops slowly onto Peeta's shoulder, my eyes drifting shut with ease, and I can tell from the way that Peeta's own head rests on mine that he is leaning towards sleep as well.

I struggle to stay awake, although it seems completely futile, and it seems like hours before I feel a pressure on my hands, tugging me up off the ground.

"Come on," Finnick whispers gently, somehow pulling both of us to our feet, "Time to sleep."

He leads us both back to the makeshift campsite, sits us down on the sand beside a sleeping Joanna, and gives me a wink which I only register dimly before turning and heading back up the slow slope of the beach, to sit where Peeta and I had been stationed before. Peeta half-collapses beside me, his body drooping to the ground somewhat gracefully – I stare at him blearily before following suit. I curl up beside him, almost rolling into his arms – I rest my head on his chest and he holds me there, close to him, one warm hand resting on my waist and the other curved about my shoulders, gently stroking my hair. The gesture is so soothing my worries begin to slip away, and he's holding me so tight I feel safer already. "Goodnight, Katniss," he murmurs to me, turning his head to kiss mine; I sigh and shuffle closer.

"Night, Peeta."


End file.
